


Repentence Taking Commision (Phan)

by thegirlwholikestowrite



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Character Death, Death, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4338797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwholikestowrite/pseuds/thegirlwholikestowrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan didn't mean to hurt Phil.<br/>Dan hadn't meant to kill his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repentence Taking Commision (Phan)

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a very sad fic to match my mood. Love all of you <3 will try to upload more fics while I can.
> 
> Tyler Joseph- Drown
> 
> Please read the tags!! Please don't read if you will be triggered!!

It had started exactly six months ago. It was a normal Thursday night and we had just finished editing a video we made together and you were in a good mood. We were home, eating dinner, Italian. Everything was fine, we were talking about anything and everything and I was joking about the spaghetti that fell on your bright blue shirt when you said something that set me off. I don’t even remember what it was all about. What let me go off on you and break our plates and slam my fists on the table and scare you to death. I saw the fear in your eyes and for some messed up reason it fueled me, made me feel powerful. I remember everything about that night. I remember your fear and your attempts at calming me down. I remember how your skin felt under my own. I remember how the blood poured down your nose as I realized what I had done. I had hurt you, the person I loved more than myself. I didn’t want to face you, so I left. You called out after me and told me you forgave me and it was a mistake and it was all your fault. I saw you trying to clean the food off the floor and you looked at me with such sadness in your eyes I wanted to die. And you thought it was your fault.  
No Phil, it wasn’t. I was always a bomb ready to go off anyway. You were just in my way. And I hate that.  
I hate myself more than anything.  
I apologized maybe a million times after that. But you didn’t want to talk about it. And I understood, at least tried to. You acted like it never happened. But it had and I was sorry and you didn’t let me apologize so it was the same thing all over again.  
The months followed the incident and you had to lie countless times about the bruises on you. You smiled and told countless funny and stupid stories about how your phone fell on your face and how you tripped and fell while you ran downstairs. You lied to protect me, at least that’s what I thought until I realized I scared you. There were days I couldn't tell the nightmare of my reality from the fiction of my nightmares. Sometimes there were they I noticed things in retrospect, the house seemed different and I seemed different. I hated staring into a mirror, seeing a reflection of your pain. How nonchalant I was while I crushed every ounce of self worth you had, how awful I was at disguising how good it made me feel when I claimed my masculinity over you.  
I loved you so much Phil. But you were fragile and I was a monster that was out to hurt anyone.  
I am the one who should have been in your place.  
I hurt you more than just physically. Seeing the man you seeked comfort from turn into a monster before your eyes was maybe a wound that didn't gush blood and a wound that wouldn't heal. And you would flinch every time someone attempted to touch you. I took everything from you and apologized and called it love.  
You told me that you still loved me and it was all a mistake and it wouldn’t happen again and I cried under the running water in the shower with your hand on my back and promised I would be a better lover, better friend. You hugged me and listened as my sobs slowed.  
It did happen again.  
I don’t remember why. Or how. I remember sitting next to you on the couch making a joke and the next thing I remember was you standing up in front of me, how you had enough and you were leaving.  
You said the thing I was scared of the most. I was scared that the person that made me a whole would leave me and I would break again.  
That made me feel weak.  
And you knew me by then, I had to prove I was strong.  
And you closed your eyes before it happened, and I looked at you for a second and almost put my hand down. You were beautiful Phil. I couldn’t hurt you once again. I couldn’t hurt the person I wanted to grow old with. I punched the shelf behind you, shattered a photo frame. Last thing I saw before leaving the flat was the picture of us kissing on the floor, almost under the couch, almost gone.  
I came home in the middle of the night, didn’t even bother to check with you. I was a little drunk. But I still heard you cry through the wall.  
Next morning I broke your favorite mug. It slipped out of my hands like you were. You weren’t home. And I sat there hugging my knees, pressing the shattered pieces of the cold porcelain in my hands, crying. You found me hours later, helped me clean it and told me it was okay and you were there and everything would be fine and we would get help and everything would be okay.  
Nothing was okay Phil but you didn’t say a word.  
Three weeks ago from today, you offered therapy sessions. I stood up and started yelling about how I wasn’t crazy and didn’t need a shrink and we could solve things on our own.  
You fought back that time.  
You screamed at me back. Told me I needed to stop. That I was hurting you. You told me things I didn’t want to remember about myself. I turned into something I don’t ever want to recall and hit you. You backed away, hitting your head on the back wall. You were obviously stronger than me, a simple push and I was on the floor. You told me you hated me and left.  
I hate myself too Phil.  
This is a new kind of hatred, new kind of self loathing for me. It’s too much and sometimes I can’t even bear to look at my reflection, too afraid to see a reflection of someone I no longer know. I am too afraid to find out what happened to me. I am frightened to find out what I happened to become. I’m too afraid to see a demon marveling under my skin, flowing inside my veins.  
You left me in silence for three hours.  
Then came back to tell me you loved me and you didn’t mean to say any of those things and I was okay and we would fix it together.  
You kissed me and promised me everything would be much better.  
I doubted it Phil I’m not going to lie. We both knew better than thinking I would be able to be fixed.  
You talked to me for a while, somehow convinced me everything would be okay. We both went to sleep knowing that. At least I did.  
When I woke up, you weren’t breathing.  
I panicked. My breath was caught in my throat and I couldn’t even move my fingers and I sat there watching your motionless body. When I finally got myself together and found a phone, I called an ambulance and ran outside. It was windy and I was scared and I was so scared I had done something to you.  
I found a bench at a park and sat there while it rained on me. I was hoping it would wash away everything I have done and I would go home to see you smiling.  
I did not know I wouldn’t see your smile again.  
It took me hours to get myself together. After that I called your number. Some random woman picked it up and told me which hospital you were in. I ran as the rain poured.  
I hated myself so much. For hurting you. For taking my anger on you like you were some more beautiful reflection of me. For destroying your trust. For destroying you. For destroying us.  
I ran and my lungs burned and my legs hurt but I sill ran. I ran to you. Hoping you were still alive and somehow that they saved you.  
I swear I was going to leave after I said goodbye.  
I was going to tell you I loved you then leave before I hurt you more.  
I didn’t know what I had done Phil.  
When I arrived at the hospital the lady at the front desk welcomed me with sad a smile. I didn’t feel welcomed at all. I was a killer, a monster. I didn’t belong in there. They asked me for my last name and i muttered something before they told me your room number. 672.  
It’s carved in my head.  
Like everything else.  
Like how the room smelled so strongly of hospitals that It took me a while to breathe normally again.  
Like how the tubes connecting you to the machines made you look tiny and small.  
Like how the monitor showed my your heart beating and how I was afraid it would stop and leave me in silence and alone with my thoughts and guilt and regrets.  
Like how pale and dead you looked.  
Like how my chest felt tight after I realized I had done that to you.  
Like how the doctor sadly told me everything I needed to know.  
Like how he gave me millions of reasons to off myself right that minute.  
Like how your mom hugged me crying, sobbing into my shoulder, not knowing I had done that to her son.  
They told me that you wouldn’t wake up. They would have to turn the machine off and your heartbeat would slow and then stop.  
They told me you would be dead in a day and we had twenty four hours to say goodbye to you.  
That your concussion was too severe and it hadn’t been treated earlier. How the brain trauma caused internal bleeding and you would be dead by the time you got to the hospital if I had been a little later.  
There is no describing how much this hurts. How hard it is for me to breathe when you are not and how hard it is for me to fall asleep without you haunting my dreams.  
How I can’t even go back to our apartment because I’m afraid my lungs will collapse because I have been holding my breath for too long.  
I never stop thinking about how easy it would be to end my own pain.  
But I deserve to suffer.  
Death would be too nice for me.  
Killing me would be doing me a favor at this point and I did nothing other than mindlessly walk around London and hope for you to come back.  
No words can explain how I’m missing you. I miss the silent humming of the theme of the Nightmare Before Christmas and I miss the smell of your cologne and I miss how your lips felt against mine and I miss fighting you over who has the prettiest eyes and I miss looking at little kids and imagining a future with you.  
And I can’t stop crying.  
All I want to do is be with you for one more day and apologize for what I have done.  
I know there is nothing that could fix what I did.  
I killed you and everytime I say this to myself I start sobbing and I’m so tired of crying because every time I do I can’t stop. And I always have this feeling inside me that feels like dying and not feeling but also feeling like shit at the same time.  
You are out of my touch now. I can’t feel your fingertips against my spine and I can’t feel your fingers locking with me and you are so far away.  
I am tired Phil.  
I’m as tired as a person could be. I’m past everything. I’m passed denial I’m passed guilt and I’m passed saving but I can’t get past you.  
I can’t get past the fact that I killed you and hurt more people that I met.  
And I am constantly looking for ways to punish myself but missing a half of me seems like a good enough punishment.  
I’m so alone.  
There was no one else that loved me other than you and now that you are gone I am more alone than ever.  
So I might decide to take a trip to the other side.  
I just don’t know when.  
Maybe today.  
Maybe tomorrow  
Maybe years later.  
But I know how I will go. If this pain doesn’t kill me, I know how it will end.  
And I love you.  
I love you more than anything.

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry.  
> I really am.


End file.
